


Hot Potato

by disturbedbydesign



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disturbedbydesign/pseuds/disturbedbydesign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ill-fated love story of Tom and his potato.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Potato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badcircuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badcircuit/gifts).



It was the evening of Day 4 and Tom was hungry. He’d been fighting a headache all day and he was beginning to feel a tad lightheaded. Living below the line was far more difficult that he had anticipated, and while he was happy to participate in a cause he believed in – one that had opened his eyes to the plight of so many for whom this was not a choice but a necessity – as suppertime drew near he felt his will start to slip. He tried to remind himself that the UNICEF organization was very dear to him. His trip to West Africa had opened his eyes to so many things and made him painfully cognizant of how truly privileged and sheltered he had always been. So when the challenge came round he knew he had to be a part of it. It wasn’t even a question in his mind. It was something he had to do, not for publicity but for himself.

People had chastised him for it, of course. Luke had told him that would most likely happen, and he’d been correct as usual. People were saying it was a PR move and trying to paint him as just another elitist prat trying to appear humble in the face of his newfound fame. But these people didn’t know him. They didn’t know his passion and his commitment to the cause. He wouldn’t let the ramblings of complete strangers break him.

“I’m stronger than that,” he thought to himself. “I am not who they think I am.”

The urge for a grilled chicken sandwich was strong, though – had been for days – and as Tom stared at the rice that would once again constitute supper he began to waver. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had his keys in hand and was starting for the door. That’s when he heard a voice, so mellifluous and soft, echo through the kitchen.

“Thomas, don’t. Stay strong. You can do this.”

He froze in place. He knew he was home alone but he checked every room before returning to the kitchen.

“That’s it,” he said to himself. “I am officially deliriously hungry.” He went for the box of rice but he heard her again.

“I’ve been watching you, Thomas, and I am so tremendously proud of you.”

Tom started to lose it then.

“Who’s there?” he yelled. “I’m calling the police.”

“There’s no need for that, Thomas.”

The voice was louder this time and Tom was able to pinpoint where it was coming from. He walked slowly towards the kitchen counter to where a lone potato sat – his last potato, tomorrow’s lunch.

“This cannot be happening,” he said. “I must be hearing things.”

“You’re not,” she said, and this time the source of the sound was unmistakable.

The sound was undeniably emanating from the potato – the largest of the lot he’d purchased, the one he’d been saving for his final lunch. Tom crouched down next to the countertop, eyes level with it, scanning for any signs of irregularity, but he found nothing.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What are you?”

“I’m a potato, of course. Don’t be daft.”

She spoke as if it was the most commonplace of things for a potato to be talking to a man, and Tom thought he must be off his rocker.

“I just need food, that’s all,” he said to himself. “A bit of rice will put an end to this madness.”

“Is it madness?”

He turned to the potato and screamed, “Don’t you dare quote Loki to me!”

“I’m sorry,” said the potato. “I just really loved the film. I meant no offense.”

“No,” Tom said, pacing the kitchen. “I am not having a conversation with a bloody potato. This is not happening.”

“It’s happening, Thomas, whether you care to admit it or not.”

Tom covered his ears and yelled, “Piss off, you!”

“Thomas, please. If you’ve learned one thing in your travels it’s that the world is vast and unknowable, and we are all just a small part of that whole. Can you stand there and tell me that you know everything there is to know? Can you?”

“I know that potatoes don’t talk.”

“And yet here you are, talking to me.”

Tom had had more than enough and threw a tea towel over the potato to muffle the sound. He pleaded for it to stop. He prayed to God to set his mind right again. He went about fixing his supper and shoveled it down the moment it was cooled enough to eat. He thought that would do it. He thought a hot supper, however meager, would put an end to this insanity. He was wrong.

Through the fabric of the tea towel he heard that sweet voice calling to him, begging for release. He ran his hands up his neck and over his mouth, covering it to keep from responding to her. It was pointless, though. He needed answers. Tom got up from the table and ripped the towel off the potato, kneeling down with a stern face.

“Listen, you… whatever you are. I don’t know what you’re playing at but this needs to stop.”

“Thomas, please,” she said, and it was most definitely a she because in spite of himself Tom couldn’t help but acknowledge that she had a voice as sweet and smooth as honey. He shook it off, though. He had to.

“Please what?” he cried. “What do you want from me?”

“I just want to talk,” she said. “And I want you to listen.”

“What could I possibly have to talk about with a bloody potato?”

“There’s no need for that kind of language, Thomas. And I believe you’ll find we have more in common than you think.”

Tom dragged a chair over placed it in front of the counter, sitting with his legs spread wide and his arms crossed. He sighed deep, still not believing he was indulging himself in what was most certainly an auditory hallucination, but he couldn’t help but be curious. If this was his own subconscious speaking to him, which is what he’d decided it must be, he’d at least hear himself out. He spoke with a voice hard as steel.

“I’m listening,” he said, and the potato began.

“I’ve been watching you these past few days, Thomas. I can see the self-doubt in your eyes every time you prepare a meal. You were going to break tonight, weren’t you?”

Tom was silent for a moment before he hung his head in shame.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“And why didn’t you?” she asked.

Tom looked at her – really looked at her – before he answered: “Because of you.”

“No, Thomas,” she said. “It wasn’t me. It was you. You have the strength to carry on inside of yourself. You didn’t need me… not really.”

Her tone was so soothing, so kind, and Tom felt himself start to open up to her in ways that he hadn’t done with anyone in longer than he cared to remember. He told her that he felt his fame was changing him, despite all his efforts to remain the same. He told her that he wanted more than anything to keep himself grounded. And he told her something he’d never told anyone: that some nights he was kept awake by the guilt and shame he felt after experiencing firsthand how others in the world suffer.

“I feel like a complete arse complaining about things that are so petty and trivial in the grand scheme of things,” he said. “Sometimes I feel so ungrateful it makes me physically ill.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Thomas,” she said. “You may have been born privileged, but you are brilliant and you deserve your successes. Never doubt that.”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I just don’t know.”

“Well I know,” she said. “You have to trust me.”

Tom looked at her with piercing blue eyes. “Do you have a name?”

“I have a lot of names,” she replied. “But you can call me whatever you’d like.”

Tom smiled. “Well I suppose if it’s my choice, I would call you Sophia.”

“Ahhh,” she replied. “Greek word for wisdom. Ever the classicist, you are.”

Tom was taken aback. “You know Greek?”

“Why of course,” she said. “Did you think my knowledge was limited to horticulture and the inner workings of your mind?”

Then she laughed, and the sound was like music, and Tom found himself speechless for a moment.

“I’m quite embarrassed to say I would never had guessed you possessed any knowledge at all.”

“You know nothing, Tom Hiddleston.”

Now she was referencing _A Song of Ice and Fire_ and Tom couldn’t help but laugh uncontrollably. When he recovered from his giggle fit he took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair.

“You know, for a potato, you’re really quite impressive. Next thing you’ll be telling me you know the complete works of Shakespeare.”

“Would you like to start with the sonnets, or shall we jump into the plays?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

“I’ve always enjoyed the history plays,” she said. “You made a brilliant Henry V, by the way, although I must admit I’ve always been partial to Prince Hal.”

 “Bless you for saying that,” he said. He couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto his face.

Tom ended up spending the night talking to Sophia. He felt he could open up to her with no fear of judgment, and he did just that. They talked about everything: his childhood, his parents’ divorce, past loves lost and those left unrequited. It felt good to let it all out. His public persona was so congenial and polite. He was always charming and kind and enthusiastic, and while these were all true aspects of his personality, nobody is perfect. Tom was no different than any other man at the end of the day – he had his flaws, his weaknesses, his moments of anger and rage. The difference was that, in the public eye, he could never show these things. Sophia made him feel like it was OK to just be himself, for better or worse. She accepted him, maybe even loved him. That thought was frightening but it was very, very real.

Tom had lost himself in the conversation, as he was wont to do. He tended to get carried away and talk too much and he knew that, but Sophia didn’t seem to mind. But when he looked at the clock and saw it was creeping toward dawn he knew it was time to get some sleep. He couldn’t bear to tear himself away from her, though. There was just something about her he couldn’t shake.

“Sophia, darling, if I may be so bold… would you care to share my bed tonight?”

“Well,” she said, “it is our last night together. I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

For the first time Tom realized that tomorrow he would lose Sophia forever, and it made him unfathomably sad.

“It doesn’t have to be our last night together,” he said, picking her up and cradling her in his large hands. “I can buy another potato. No one will know.”

“No, Thomas,” she said sternly. “You’ve spent your full allowance for the week. You have to see this thing through. You owe it to yourself, and to me.”

“I can’t bear to lose you now, darling,” he said, feeling a tear tickling at the corner of his eye. He had to hold it back, though. He had to be strong for her. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“You must, Thomas. Now take me to bed.”

Tom went to bed with Sophia on the pillow next to him, but what little sleep he got was not restful. He woke in the morning filled with absolute dread of what he would be forced to do. On top of all that, a camera crew was set to film his last lunch of the challenge – the lunch that was to be Sophia. He wished more than anything he could cancel – that, if he had to do it, it could be a private moment between the two of them. It wasn’t to be, though, and he choked down his breakfast with Sophia sitting across from him at the table. They didn’t speak for a while, just enjoyed each other’s company in the few short hours they had left, but once the dishes were clean and everything put away Tom couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I can’t do this,” he said. He let the tears fall freely now. “I just can’t.”

“You must,” she said. “This was never meant to last, Thomas. I am a hardy tuber but even if you kept me we would only have a few weeks left together. You would have to watch me rot and liquefy. It’s better this way.”

“Will it hurt?” he asked.

“No, my love,” she said. “Being baked feels much as I would imagine a nice hot shower to be. I won’t feel any pain.”

“How am I supposed to do this in front of a camera crew, knowing the world will be watching? It’s too much to bear.”

“You’re an actor, Thomas,” she said. “A brilliant one at that. You’ll have to dig deep, but I know you can do it.”

Tom sat with his head in one hand, caressing Sophia’s rough skin with the other. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do but hold her until it was time. When the camera crew arrived they found Tom completely disheveled.

“You alright, mate?” one of the crewmen asked. “You look ghastly.”

“Let’s just do this, alright? I’m not feeling myself today.”

One of the crewmen preheated the oven and got everything in order while Tom had some makeup applied to cover the bags under his eyes. He kept Sophia in his lap the entire time, and though everyone thought it strange, no one dared question it. When the oven was ready one of the crew offered to bake the potato for him. Before he could control himself, Tom snapped and yelled “No!”

It was excessively loud and extremely bizarre and the crew all looked at each other like Tom was mental. He tried to play it off because he had to.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” he said in his usual dulcet tone. “I just really enjoy cooking my own meals. In fact, if you all don’t mind, I would like to be alone for a moment.”

At that point everyone was so confused they didn’t even bother questioning him, and once everyone had gone Tom took Sophia in his bare hands and whispered to her softly.

“I will never forget you,” he said.

“I will always be with you,” she replied. “Let me be the carbohydrates that fuel your next run, and every time you sprint next to the Thames, think of me and all that we’ve shared.”

“I will, my darling. I will.”

 Tom placed her gently on the tray. He opened the oven, fighting back tears, and went to slide the tray inside but Sophia stopped him.

“Thomas,” she said, “use the oven gloves. You’ll burn yourself.”

“It would be worth it,” he replied. “I would burn for you, just for the scar to remember you by.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You must use the gloves, and don’t try to eat me with your hands, either. Do it properly, for me.”

“I would do anything for you, Sophia.”

“Then finish this, Thomas. Finish strong. Farewell, my love.”

“I… I love you, Sophia.”

“I know you do,” she said, “and I love you.”

And with that there was nothing left to be said. Tom donned his gloves and pushed her into the oven, though he kept the oven light off. He couldn’t bear to watch so he left the room to call the crew back into position. They were already set and ready to go, so they started with a few takes of the introduction. At first, Tom was a complete mess – forgetting lines, screwing up the name of the challenge, even messing up his own name at one point. It got worse as the smell of Sophia started to flood the room, and despite his inner turmoil he couldn’t help but salivate. He hated himself for it, but he wanted her. He was just so incredibly hungry.

“It’s what she wanted,” he thought to himself. “It will be OK.”

They were almost out of time when Tom gathered himself together, apologizing profusely for the past few takes and promising he’d get the next one right. He closed his eyes and thought of Sophia, of all that they had shared, of everything she had given him and everything he would take away from their brief time together. It was enough, and Tom nailed the last take in one shot. When he took her out of the oven she was crisped and browned to perfection. She smelled amazing, and all his fears and doubts were replaced with the utmost admiration for her and her sacrifice. He cradled her in his oven glove as he delivered his lines to the camera, his love for her radiating out of every pore.

When they wrapped, Tom waited until everything and everyone had cleared out before he sat down to consume Sophia. They all thought it strange he didn’t eat right away, starving as he must have been, but they weren’t there to question him and he wore a no-nonsense expression that said he wouldn’t answer any questions posed to him anyway. When he was finally alone, he sat with knife and fork at the ready, and he almost couldn’t do it. He wanted to skip lunch entirely and just sit with her, talking to her though he knew she couldn’t talk back. But he remembered Sophia’s final wish for him, knew that she would live inside him and give him strength, and it was what he needed to push through.

Though she had grown cold, Tom’s first bite was delicious. He devoured Sophia with all the ardor and passion she deserved, and when he was done he licked his plate clean. He didn’t feel sad; he didn’t feel guilty. He just smiled because, as with so many other things, Sophia had been right all along. Their love was not built to last, but she had given him something no woman had been able to provide him in a long time. Sophia didn’t care that he was famous or handsome or rich. None of that mattered to her. She loved him for who he was, faults and all, and that gave Tom the strength and renewed sense of purpose that would carry him through not only this challenge but all the challenges still ahead of him.

In the years that followed, Tom would often find himself walking aimlessly around London (or whatever city he happened to be filming in) only to end up in the produce section of some grocer’s shop he happened to pass. He would pretend to look at other items, but he would always end up at the potatoes – looking, listening for that sweet voice to call out his name. Sometimes people would stare, sometimes take pictures on their phones and post them on the Internet, but it never bothered him. Once there were enough photographs of Tom next to various potato bins around the globe, rumors started to circulate in the blogosphere. Headlines would read “Tom Hiddleston REALLY Loves Potatoes,” people would make lewd jokes, even draw pictures of him in compromising positions. Tom just brushed it off. Cruel as people could be, in his heart he wanted only the best for everyone. He hoped one day that each and every one of them would find their own potato, whatever form it might take, for everyone is deserving of a love like that, even when found in the strangest of places.

 


End file.
